Potters Hill
by The Last Founder
Summary: Voldemort is lord and king of England. Harry Potter is dead and lost. Hogwarts is in ruins, and already forgotten. So many that would have stopped the Dark King lie dead and desecrated, all dead following the banner of an old man with a burning bird. Those that could have saved them all, escaped with fleeting lives. The destroyer of Voldemort approaches, and he isn't a gardener...


**A.N**

I've written many stories on this site and others, and I find that I can't often complete them, sadly enough.  
I'm going to work on the Death Note crossover I have later, but I had a plot-bunny that wouldn't die.

As this stands, it is intended to be a oneshot, someone can adopt it if they'd like, but I'm only doing this one.  
The inspiration should be clear.

Note, Cursed Canon is not canon, and never should be.  
Hope you enjoy

 **-Oscar**

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 **(I don't own Harry Potter or anything that seems familiar.)**

* * *

 **Potter's Hill**

* * *

 **Flitterbloom,** the "Friendly Plant", crossed relative to the demonic plant, Devil's Snare.

First discovered in the Americas, the Flitterbloom is a passive plant known for it's long tentacles, which sway in the the breeze like windchimes. A small whistling sound is often heard coming from the plant, almost as if it were expressing joy, or attempting to communicate its glee.

I often keep such specimens in the greenhouse, as they add a sense of… mirth, to this barren ground.

No matter how much work I put into the soil, the land stays… sad and barren, despite its desperate desire to grow life beneath its poor depths.

Pots were an essential tool within the greenhouse, as the plants could only grow within a confined space. Sadly, this meant most trees couldn't grow in the expanse of desolate land surrounding my home.

Regardless, my land appeared to be the only one capable of growing anything worth a damn, and I wasn't willing to leave the land dry with sorrow.

After watering the plant, and stroking its leaves to rest, I stood on shaking knees as I turned towards the large pane of glass that framed the greenhouse wall.  
I looked back to the flora at my feet, and smiled wearily, before looking back at the cracked open entrance to the greenhouse.

"I know you're out there… Is that you, young Finnigan?" I called out, as I waited to see the face of the small teen that often came to visit my home, normally accompanied by his father, but it wasn't my young friend that came to visit me, of that I was sure.

It was with sudden footsteps, that a person stepped through the splintered brown door, and a near heart attack sprang through my chest.

A young boy stood before me, dark hair falling before his eyes, as a determined gleam rested within familiar, but odd emerald orbs.

Apparently, a ghost of my past has come to visit me…

"You… you're not… who are you?" I managed to croak out, as I rested my palms against the table that rested in the center of the greenhouse, a bead of sweat dripping from my forehead as I fought against the vortex that threatened to consume my mind, my eyes locked in disbelief at my visitor.

I couldn't afford to go back there…

He can't be alive…

"My name is Albus… Albus Severus Potter… you knew my father." The boy said softly yet strongly, a shudder going through my spine as the voice sounded so much like the one that had played its part in my memories.

"I… I did," I said, as images seemed to flow by my eyes, happy yet bitter ones, as memories of days past came to mind, along with many nightmares. "What do you want from me boy?"

"I want one thing… Help me kill the dark lord…"

 **"Help me kill Tom Riddle."**

* * *

 **My name is Neville Joel Longbottom,** and I'm a wizard… or was one.

That look on your face, I've seen that face before. You don't believe me, but I'm telling you nothing but the hard truth. Maybe you don't understand.

Magic is real. Dragons, griffons, mermaids… Merlin, all of that is real, only hidden from the eyes of those that would destroy all that my people have held dear for centuries.

The muggles… those that were… afraid of us; we hid everything from them.

So much so, that the wizarding world had employed measures long ago that hid us away from the public eye, and made us a myth.

Wizards became a joke, a fairy tale to be told to your children before they fall asleep.

But, that doesn't matter now, none of it does.

For many years of my life, I was considered a nobody, just a pathetic whelp that didn't deserve to be included among my 'superior' peers.

You see, when I was younger, I wasn't as… advanced, as the magical children around me. A squib.

They were all stronger, or smarter, or more talented than I was.

And I was fine with that, a bit jealous, but that was fine.

I didn't need to be Head Boy, or anything like that to be proud of myself or my life, or even to be happy.

The small building filled with crops, the friendly sun shining down upon my head as I worked my tired body around my homestead day in and day out.

That was all I needed in my life.

But, that wasn't the life I was given, not fully at least.

When I was fifteen, I joined a secret study group belonging to an old classmate of mine, and that started me on a route that promised security, and more that I didn't realize would come.

What appeared to be a method to better my dismal grades, became a group determined to destroy an insane terrorist that was hellbent on becoming the unholy dictator of the world.

The D.A, Albus Dumbledore's 'Army.'

We were all a group of plucky kids who wanted to save the world, and spit in the face of pure evil, our heroes an old man past his prime and a young boy who didn't want his destiny.

Perhaps… I've grown cynical in my old age, but that didn't matter now. I've become old too, and I've lost more battles than he had.

We all lost on the day it mattered most… When the pale devil came to visit the school that had welcomed my friends and I into its hallowed halls with open arms, and taught us how to be magical…

Our leader was a boy named Harry Potter, a regular hero and celebrity that everyone in the wizarding world knew the name of, and still did.

A child that managed to vanquish the terrorist on one haunted night, and helped the sun come back to wash away the fear that had its claws sanken into the world's heart.

He was a wonderful, and kind of terrible friend… but I failed him.

On the night Voldemort and his army, the Death Eaters, attacked our school, the DA and Harry were separated.

While my fellows and I fought against the death eaters, Harry and his two best friends went after Voldemort.

It was then, when the pale light of the morning began to rise, that Harry Potter died.

We lost, **and our sworn enemy became king…**

* * *

 **None of us wanted to run,** but we were granted a deal…

Join him, or die.

I was willing to die for my beliefs, but I wasn't given my chance, as another choice was given to us all.

Remain trapped inside the worst prison on Earth for twenty days, join the murderous monster that reigned supreme, or die a terrible death.

The DA was sliced in halves, as a portion of us sadly joined forces with that criminal, a few heroes among us took death by the monster's cruel hand, and a quarter of us took our beds in Azkaban with a grim look.

I was one of the ones imprisoned, but none of us knew what awaited us when the twenty days past.

Upon daybreak of the twenty-first day, Voldemort greeted us all at the shore of Azkaban island, with a glowing orb grasped in his palm.

He explained the object as an ancient artifact, with one purpose… one that would scar us all for the rest of our lives.

Voldemort gave us all the final ultimatum, and we were held at wand point to make our decision.

This, however, was a group decision…

With our sad votes cast, Voldemort used the artifact to steal our powers away.

He took the magic that had flowed through our veins since birth, and had left us all to feel empty for the rest of our lives.

 **It… was hell.**

* * *

 **"Tom Riddle can't be killed kid…"** I said grimly, as I came to rest in the armchair that had been old when I got it, now a crumbling mess of fabric and shoddy craftsmanship, which had resisted all attempts to repair it.

My back had gotten bombarded long ago, and I had nothing to fix it. A few inches lower, and I'd been a cripple for the rest of my life, confined to a chair… much too like my poor parents… their fates not even I knew, or cared to know.

My gran's fate… I wasn't offered ignorance.

Her head had been mailed to my doorstep.

My path had been burned, and only my few allies remained, the shatters of glass that I had slipped in my frayed pocket.

So precious, that I had isolated myself from.

They all had lives of their own now, and I was the hermit on the hill, the grower of food and the kindly teacher of children.

Always kind and soft, fresh fruits set aside for guests, the little bit of magic in me, used to grow goods for my old friends and their families.

A tired smile on my face… as long as the war stayed in the past… where it couldn't hurt any of us.

Those of us here, the residents of Potter's Hill, had grown accustomed to the new truth.

The war was taboo, Harry Potter became a martyr, a hero and no more.

Despite my best attempts though, Harry Potter had thrown one last plot twist at me…

"He's not immortal, I know how to kill him." The boy, Albus said with fire in his eyes, as he sat on the coffee table I'd found in the river, the wood chipped and stained from the murky depths.

"Draco Malfoy said the same… then he killed some of my friends… he was an assassin… Led most of us into a trap… My spine was shattered, I can never run again. He killed my wife… " I muttered darkly, as my spine began to turn cold, the phantom pain kicking in. "I sliced his head off and turned his skull into a wardstone. It's under my house."

The boy looked surprised at that, the weathered man with white hair way before his time, a brutal and blunt killer.

How silly I must look, a lost look on my face and my ridiculous hair, talking about murder and black magic...

No one expected me to have done half of what I'd done in my long life, but I've done much more and much less than that.

"Well I'm no Malfoy… Riddle can be killed, I just need a little help… Your friends said to speak with you, since you did make him a little more human." James explained in that rare technique where one seems to be explaining yet giving nothing.

Dumbledore had done wonders with that little trick, and apparently it went with the name… From now on, I'm killing anyone named Albus… for the greater good of course, and for my sanity.

"Explain."

 **"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"**

* * *

 **So… the snake faced fucker** sliced up his soul and decided to make a scavenger hunt out of it…

Honestly, after Harry ordered me to destroy the damned snake by any means necessary, I had a feeling and a lot of time to think.

The fact that Harry's clone of a son showed up twenty five years later to tell me what his father couldn't… It doesn't surprise me as much as it honestly should.

Really, I almost expected something like this, but something still didn't add up…

I had to turn to the boy for a second, as the boy was ranting on and on about goblins and forest rocks, and I had to have an answer.

"Bo- Albus, your father died in '98… just how old are you?" I asked, a suspension growing in mind as I had feeling…

"I'm seventeen, just like he was…" Albus said quickly, looking anywhere but at my eyes, his fingernails seemed to be interesting today.

"But you're not as good as he was." I said as bluntly as possible, the boy before me is a pale faced wimp, likely he's been holed up in some bunker and raised to think he was responsible for finishing off Voldemort.  
Just like ol' Harry…

"Hey! I know… enough." Albus spit out, only to lose spirit way too quickly. I sighed as the boy seemed more like me it seems, than his old man.

How the hell did he come all the way here and see me, with this sulky confidence?

I had to work on that it seems, as I doubt the boy's going anywhere soon… Best for him to learn the best way to get courage.

"Look Al, I'll think about, you know, helping kill snakeface again… but not now." I said gruffly, as I rubbed my scratchy chin, the beard probably looks like the old goat's by now…

Albus looked disheartened at that, and seemed to shrink into himself as his eyes lost focus.

"You know how to use a spade?"

"What's a spade?"

"You're making it really hard to not kick you out…"

 **"Sorry, I think?"**

* * *

 **Crimson eyes shot open in anger,** as a scared voice called out into the long throne room, the one that was known to all of the Britain and seen only by few, less were those who lived to leave it.

Of course, a massive and sharp throne was raised at the end of the room, the spot replacing where the muggle monarch's used to be.

The Dark king had enjoyed taking her crown from her, along with those 'precious' jewels locked away.

A thin man dressed in black robes walked into the corrupted room, a scrap of parchment held in hand, his eyes were wide with fear; it was rightly held, many didn't survive missions to the king.

"Your majesty?" The man croaked out, as the pale king locked his eyes onto the man's shaking form, amusement almost shining into the scarlet depths of hatred that Tom Riddle might have called a soul.

Several moments of sheer silence passed as the man almost seemed ready to kill himself to end it all, Tom Riddle spoke; he had little need of speaking now that he held England's throat.

"Speak."

"My lord… There's been a portkey activation… an illegal one…" The worm, even more lowly than Wormtail himself, stuttered out as it struck Riddle's nerves.

Many had taken to breaking laws both he and others had written, but he'd learned to mediate them. He could kill every offender, after all, he disappeared for ten years last time he'd tried that…

"Where from, and where to?" Riddle, King Voldemort, asked simply and nobly, at least how he thought that sounded. He sounded hostile and bloodthirsty.

The man gulped then, his eyes closing as if accepting of his fate.  
How clairvoyant of the man.

"F-from… G-godric's Hollow… to America."

Green light flooded the throne room, as a fury filled the dark king like he hadn't felt in years, flaming beginning to burn from his eyes as he screamed.

He would kill whoever dared to mock him, and all those that ran. Even those pathetic jokes he'd bound and let run. No one would be safe, as they learnt the cruelest truth in life.

 **No one flees from death, and he would be it.**

* * *

 **I couldn't get this idea out of my head,** old-but young Neville and Albus traveling across the world to finally finish off Voldemort, while becoming heroes.

Review or message me if you want to continue this, and I guess I'll talk with you about it.  
Regardless, I don't intent to continue this, as I didn't have more than this idea.  
I might have ideas for more one-shots, but this is it for now.

(Also, the taboo on the word Voldemort is intact.)  
Hope you enjoyed,

 **-O**


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